“The simple act of walking and taking in what I saw and puzzling over what I encountered as I went. The rhythm and simplicity of it.”              

— Neil King Jr. 

As I was cracking the third of four eggs into the bowl to then scramble the yolks, the chorus of John Prine’s seminal 1971 number “Spanish Pipedream” echoed throughout the room. I decided then and there that to make breakfast with Mr. Prine playing in the background is the only way to start your day. 

Early Tuesday morning. Sitting in the dentist chair, I stared blankly out onto the parking lot, only to then notice the bustling traffic on nearby U.S. 276. It was at that moment when the nice dental hygienist asked if a date and time in mid-September 2025 would be ideal for my next teeth cleaning.  

Officials at all levels of government, including new U.S. Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy, visited the construction area along I-40 near the Tennessee border to take a look at progress and renew the pledge to get the necessary repairs done as quickly and safely as possible. 

The fallout immediately following the disaster wrought by Hurricane Helene was tragic and traumatizing, but as time has gone on and debris piles slowly disappear, certain secondary woes are being fully realized. 

Christmas Eve. With the sun fading behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, the sky transitioning into bright pink, purple and orange, I found myself quietly jogging the four-mile path around Lake Junaluska. Nobody around me, the air quickly gets cold during sunset. Dozens of Canada geese roaming the walking trails and shoreline, with many more either swimming or in-flight nearby. 

It was quiet, so damn quiet. Wednesday evening. Myself flying solo, exiting Interstate 240, merging onto Patton Avenue and rolling into the heart of downtown Asheville. No traffic. No cars. No people. It was odd. 

Thursday morning. Although the sunshine and blue skies over Western North Carolina seemed rather inviting, it was false pretense as I stepped out onto the front porch and realized that flip-flops were not the ideal choice to battle a cold mid-fall breeze across naked toes. 

(Editor’s Note: Amid the chaos of the recent floods from Hurricane Helene, this column wasn’t able to run in the Oct. 2 issue of The Smoky Mountain News due to space issues in the midst of crisis.)

Hello from Room 13 at the Seabirds Motel in Kure Beach, North Carolina. Saturday morning.

Putting the truck into park, my girlfriend, Sarah, and I finally returned to our quaint apartment in downtown Waynesville Monday evening. After a long journey from the North Carolina coast back to Haywood County this weekend, it’s been a whirlwind of emotions.